


The Stepford Husband

by Acemindbreaker



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Forced Feminization, Mind Control, Pregnancy, Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 07:27:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20149888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acemindbreaker/pseuds/Acemindbreaker
Summary: Paul wants his wife, Angelle, to act more traditional - particularly now that she's expecting a baby. So he starts work on a mind control device. But before he can put it to use, Angelle finds it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by one of the prompts listed here:
> 
> https://writepop.com/story-ideas/story-ideas-part-vi-psychic-abilities

At first, I liked Paul’s old-fashioned manners, the way he treated me like a lady, paid my bill even though I could afford it better than he could, opened doors for me, told me how beautiful I was.

We rushed into marriage, I’ll admit. I was getting to my late thirties, and my biological clock was ticking. We got married after only six months of dating.

I thought it was the stress of trying to adjust to each other, and later, trying to conceive. I thought that was why he seemed distant, and spent so much time in his laboratory tinkering.

But then, after a year of marriage, we got to talking about childcare. I talked about how I expected him to play a full part, and how I planned to find a daycare and go back to work when the baby was six months old. He lost his temper then, yelling at me, saying that if I really cared about our family, I’d stay home and look after the baby instead of rushing back to work. When I asked him if he’d consider staying home, since he did make less money than me, he was speechless with fury.

After the argument, things weren’t the same. I seriously considered leaving him, but I missed my period the very next month, and I began to hope that maybe the baby would turn him around. Maybe once he met the child, he’d love it enough to realize how important fatherhood was, and he’d be willing to do his fair share.

  


Throughout my pregnancy, Paul worked in his lab late into the night. Perhaps that’s why that fall, when I was seven months along, he came down with the flu, so bad he could barely make it out of bed.

Despite our disagreements, when he awoke feverish and weak, I rallied around him, ordering him to rest and taking the day off of work to look after him.

It was while he was sleeping, shortly before noon on the second day, that I went looking for my cauldron and found it in his laboratory.

Curious, I started looking through his notes, and soon became horrified. He’d been writing about mind control. I flipped to the last page, and read that he’d finished his device. All he needed was some preliminary testing, and then it would be ready. _‘And then I’ll have the perfect wife, the mother that our baby deserves!’_

I flipped back to the start and read the whole book, forgetting all about lunch. Three hours later, I was very much shaken and a bit hungry, but I also had a plan. If his device needed testing, I knew the perfect one to try it out. We’ll see how he liked a taste of his own medicine!

  


I took the device with me, hidden in my purse when I brought him a late lunch. I set his food on the bedside table, but he was still fast asleep.

I shook him awake. “Come on, Paul. Have some soup.”

“Angelle? You made me soup?” He sniffled, then started coughing.

I waited for it to pass, then offered the soup again. “Come on, you need to keep up your strength.” He shook his head, so I held out a cup of tea. “At least have some tea?” I opened a sugar packet and dropped it in, using the motion to cover me adding one of the drugs he’d mixed up for me into the mix. Seriously, drugs! He’d claimed he was doing this for the baby, and yet he was willing to risk exposing them to his concoction? Who knows what harm it could have done!

Paul accepted the tea and drank unsuspectingly—no doubt the drug had been designed to be tasteless. I tried again to get him to eat his soup, and he had a few spoonfuls, then drifted off to sleep.

  


I got up, groaning as the weight of my pregnant belly hurt my lower back, and paced, waiting. After thirty minutes, I set to work.

I’d never pierced my ears, and Paul had never commented on it, but apparently that hadn’t sat well with him. He’d gotten together an ear-piercing kit for me.

I used it now. First, I mixed the numbing gel and hand sanitizer together on a napkin, and used it to clean his earlobes with Q-tips. Then I applied the sanitizer to the needle and the receivers for the mind control device, fashioned in the form of earrings. I let them dry, and then dipped the needle and receivers in the cup of salty hot water I’d fetched.

I let them sit for 15 minutes, watching Paul closely. The drug should keep him asleep, even through the pain of the piercing, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

After 15 minutes, I took them out and dried them, and marked the spots for the piercings with a marker on each earlobe. I carefully lined up the needle and jabbed it through the first ear, putting the end into a cork, and waited another 15 minutes. I took the needle out and put the receiver in, and repeated the process on his other ear.

With both in, I took out the main device, which I’d hidden under his bed, and turned it on to program #1. He’d been vague about what, exactly, each program contained, but I’d see soon.


	2. Chapter 2

That evening, he felt well enough to come to the table and eat supper with me. He still wore the receivers.

“Well, that sleep must’ve done me good.” He said. “And your soup. Thank you, Angelle.”

That was nice of him. “Thanks.”

“You see? You’re good at cooking. You do a good job of cleaning, too, when you apply yourself.” He said. “There’s no need to cling to your job for validation.”

“The same back at you.” I replied. “Are you afraid your balls will fall off because I earn more than you?”

Paul sighed. “I’m too sick for this nonsense. Seriously, all I do is give you a compliment, and you go off like this?” He frowned. “And why are you staring at my earrings?”

“Oh, no reason.” I said. “Are they new? They look nice.”

He hesitated. “I’m not sure when I got them. I can’t remember.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I’m hungry. Is there supper?”

“Yeah, the rest of the soup.” I said. “I made it in the big cauldron.” I said, then winced inwardly at my slip. Would he remember he left the cauldron in his laboratory?

“Oh, great.” He said. “I’d love more soup. Don’t worry, I won’t compliment you on it again.”

As he dished some out for himself, I was thoughtful. So far the only definite change was that he seemed completely unconcerned about wearing earrings. He’d never have been caught dead in them before—not to mention he didn’t seem to realize he hadn’t even had pierced ears before today.

That could’ve been me, if I hadn’t caught him in time. How many times had I accepted food or drink from him? He could easily have drugged me, and then started the programming, and I wouldn’t have even noticed.

  


The next morning, his flu was pretty much completely gone. When he declared he was well enough for work, I decided to go back to work as well.

The museum had gotten in some new artifacts, so the rest of my day was occupied documenting them and preparing them for testing. It was delicate, exacting work, and I found it so engrossing, I almost forgot about Paul’s betrayal.

That is, until I got home. I saw his car in the driveway and frowned—he was supposed to be home later than me. He usually had deliveries to make until well into the evening.

When I walked in, he was in the bathroom, staring at the mirror. He turned and looked at me, wild-eyed. “Something’s wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “What are you doing home?”

“Dean commented on my earrings.” Paul said. Dean was a coworker. “He said I didn’t look like the type to wear them.”

“Oh, did he?” It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d get comments, but then again, I hadn’t seen any of the delivery truck drivers wearing earrings. Most of the guys I knew who wore earrings were artist types, or gay. Or both.

“I was confused. I thought I’d worn them to work before, but Dean said no, he’d remember if I had.” Paul said. “I was feeling kind of sick anyway, so I took the afternoon off, came home and had a nap. But I forgot to take the earrings off. I meant to take them off.”

“Don’t worry, they’re designed to be OK to sleep in.” I said.

“But just now, I looked at them in the mirror. I don’t know where they came from. I don’t know when I started wearing earrings.” Paul said. “And I can’t take them off. I keep thinking I should, but I can’t make myself do it.”

“If you want to wear earrings, wear them.” I said. “Who cares what Dean thinks?”

Paul shook his head. “I don’t. I don’t like earrings. Why am I still wearing them? I don’t even like them.”

“Look.” I said. “You’re sick. You’re feeling a bit disoriented, probably still running a fever. Go lie in your bed, I’ll get you a cup of tea and you can rest until supper.”

Paul nodded. “Yeah. I’ll just get some rest.”

I drugged the tea, and once he was asleep, I put on program #2. He slept straight through supper.

  


Paul was up before me the next morning. I found him in the bathroom, cleaning the bathroom sink. “What? It was dirty.” He said.

“I appreciate the help, Paul.” I said. So much for that being women’s work. “So, you’re feeling better?”

He nodded.

“Are you up for going to work?” I asked.

He nodded again. “Yeah, I feel so much better. I don’t know why I was so freaked out, last night.”

“Yeah, must’ve just been the flu.” I said. “Glad it’s passed.”

I started work on breakfast, but Paul stopped me. “Let me help. What do you need me to do?”

“Thanks. Well, I’ve already got the bacon going well. You handle the eggs.” I said.

Paul, it turned out, didn’t actually know how to cook sunny-side up eggs. I talked him through it, inwardly wondering how he’d survived his years as a bachelor. Had he eaten takeout the whole time?

Well, no more. If he was willing to learn, I’d gladly teach him.


	3. Chapter 3

This time, he stayed at work all day. I finished work before him and started supper as soon as I got home.

He arrived home from work, just as I finished, and I could tell by his face that he was exhausted. He thanked me for supper and started eating, barely speaking during the meal.

When we were done, he protested as I started clearing away the plates. “No, I should do that. It’s my job.” He got up, yawning.

My curiosity got the better of me. “I thought you said cleaning was women’s work.”

“It is.” He said, turning the tap on and starting to scrub.

“So why are you suddenly willing to do it?” I asked.

He looked down at the plate he was washing and frowned. “I don’t know. I feel like I have to.” He looked back up at me, suddenly frightened. “Something’s wrong with me.” He finished the plate and set it aside, then hurried out of the room.

  


I poured a cup of tea and drugged it, then followed and found him in his laboratory, looking around in confusion. “I don’t know.” He said. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what, Paul?” I asked.

He turned on me. “Were you in my laboratory?”

“What makes you say that, Paul?”

“Stuff is missing. Stuff is...” He touched his earlobe. “No! You’re doing it to me!”

“Doing what, Paul?” My voice grew sharp.

“I never meant to use it.” Paul said. “Please, it was just a proof of concept. I wasn’t going to use it on you. Please, stop this. Help me take these off.” He indicated his earrings.

“I read your diary, Paul.” I said.

“It’s not a diary, it’s lab notes!” He burst out, then shook his head. “OK, look. I know you’re angry. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get rid of it all.”

“I brought you some tea.” I said.

He accepted the tea. “It’s probably drugged.” He said, and sipped it. “Why am I still drinking it? I know it’s drugged.” He took another sip, and looked at me, frightened. “Please, don’t do this. Please, stop it.”

“You’re the one drinking the tea.” I said. “What, you can’t stop yourself?”

“No.” He took a long slurp. “Program #1. Don’t remove the earrings, drink any drink your spouse gives you.”

“And program #2?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. I don’t have to answer.” He slurped the tea some more. “I won’t tell you. Maybe then I can fight it.”

“You couldn’t fight program #1. Why will you be able to fight the others?” I asked as he finished the tea.

“Please.” He said as he set the teacup in his laboratory sink and started cleaning it. “Please, stop this. Don’t do this to me. Think of our child.”

“Our child?” I asked. “Were you thinking of our child when you planned on drugging me?”

“It’s pregnancy-safe.” He said, setting the clean teacup down beside the sink and swaying on his feet.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” I said.

“No!” He backed away, then tripped over a piece of equipment. “I’d never hurt our baby. The drugs are all pregnancy-safe.”

“And when did you get your medical license?” I asked mockingly. “You’re a delivery truck driver, Paul!”

“I was going to be a doctor!” He burst out, trying to get up and failing. “I shoulda been a doctor. But they had affirmative action. The women and minorities took my spot.”

“Right.” He’d never told me this before. If he’d started ranting about affirmative action while we were dating, I’d have dumped him on the spot.

“No, really. It—it sets them at the front of the list. It...” His eyes fluttered closed, and he went limp.

  


I didn’t want to drag him to bed, so I left him there and brought the device to him. I turned it on to program #3, and then went to bed myself.

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of him crying.

He was sitting in our closet, wearing nothing but a pair of my lingerie panties, and trying in vain to get the matching bra on. It looked ludicrous on him. The bust size was far too big, and the chest band too small.

“What are you doing, Paul?”

He looked up at me miserably. “I wanted to dress up nice for you, as a surprise. But I’m too fat!”

“Seriously? You designed your brainwashing device to program me to fat-shame myself if I can’t fit a set of lingerie?”

He looked confused. “Brainwashing?”

“Never mind.” I said. “Look, you’re not fat, you’ve just got a different chest shape. Take off my panties and stop trying to put my bra on.”

“But I need to look nice for you.” Paul said.

“OK.” I wasn’t really into crossdressing men, but it wasn’t a turn-off, either. “If you need some lingerie, let’s pick some up. We’ll take the morning off and go to the mall, get you some new clothes.”

“Really?” Paul asked.

“Yes, really. Now, get dressed.”


End file.
